Saviour
by Thiswouldbeakick
Summary: 'From the cover of his truck, Napoleon watched the boats chase each other around the small harbour. The moment the sky lighted up with the orange glow of the boat catching fire, he knew something had not gone as planned.' Napoleon saves Illya from drowning in the harbour. One-shot. AU/missing scene from the movie. Will contain spoilers for the movie. Please R&R.


**AU/missing scene for the movie. So, will contain spoilers.**

 **Enjoy reading and all reviews are highly appreciated :-)**

* * *

From the cover of his truck, Napoleon watched the boats chase each other around the small harbour.

The moment the sky lighted up with the orange glow of the boat catching fire, he knew something had not gone as planned. He had to admit: that Russian was quite good at what he did, but something told Napoleon that this had not been in Illya's mind.

For about half a minute, Napoleon sat like that, watching the boat go up in flames and sink to the bottom of the harbour. Apart from the guards searching frantically too, nothing happened.  
Illya did not resurface, which confirmed to Napoleon that this situation had taken a turn for the worst.  
He sighed deeply and turned the key in the ignition until the truck roared to life. He nonchalantly put the vehicle into gear and stomped on the gas pedal. The truck surged forward and drove straight off the quay and into the water, landing right on top of the guards' boat.

The truck began to sink immediately and the cabin rapidly filled up with water.

As soon as the windshield was fully submerged, Napoleon started scanning the dark water in search for his partner. About a hundred yards in front of him he saw the giant Russian's body sink motionlessly through the water.  
Even though they had been each others greatest nemeses just over 48 hours ago, there was not a doubt in Napoleon's mind about what he should do next.  
He sat up straight in the driver's seat and turned open the window. The cold water splashed over him once again and within seconds the entire truck's cabin was filled with it.

Napoleon pulled himself out of the truck and swam strongly in the direction of his partner.  
He grabbed a hold of Illya by wrapping strong arms around the Russian's chest. It scared him how Illya made absolutely no attempt to struggle against the hold, and he knew the Russian wasn't fond of anything that threatened to come into his personal space.

Napoleon looked up at the surface of the water above him. The guards had conjured up a second boat and seemed to be searching the area where their previous boat had sunk.  
He decided to stay under water a little longer and swam away to the side of the harbour.  
When he believed to be far enough away from the guards, he broke through the surface and quickly held Illya's head above the water. He had hoped for the Russian to immediately start coughing up the water that he had inhaled, but nothing whatsoever happened. Illya simply hang limply in Napoleon's arms.

"Come on, Peril…" Napoleon muttered. Under water he jammed his knee between Illya's shoulder blades, hoping that would cause the Russian's lungs to expel the water.  
"Dammit, Illya!" Napoleon said a little louder now and jammed his knee into Illya's back even harder. It got him the desired result this time. Illya coughed violently and threw up almost an entire fountain of water.  
"Quiet!" Napoleon whispered urgently. Even though the guards hadn't spotted them yet, they were still closeby and looking for the two spies.

"W-what?" Illya stammered somewhat dazed.  
"Quiet" Napoleon urged again. Illya blinked up sluggishly at him. Nothing of his usual hard glare made it through at the moment, showing just how weak he was.  
"You damn nearly drowned, that's what happened" Napoleon explained.  
"My chest burns" Illya said softly.  
"You tried to drink a harbour dry, so no surprises there". Napoleon chuckled nervously and attempted to calm himself with these sarcastic comments, but deep down he was scared to death. Illya, usually brusque and strong, now needed to be supported or he would sink right back to the bottom of the harbour.

"There is a gap in the fence near one of the exits" Napoleon said, "I came in via that way, so I know it's large enough to fit us through. My Vespa is hidden there too. We can ride it back to the hotel".  
"Hmm" was Illya's only weary response.  
"Come on" Napoleon urged his partner and started to swim in the direction of the location he meant. He nearly had to drag Illya forward. The giant Russian seemed to barely have the strength to swim by himself and at some times consciousness was likely to leave him. Napoleon watched his partner with a uneasy feeling in his gut. How he just hoped this was going to end well…

* * *

In the end, Napoleon could not do much else than admit that he and Illya had been incredibly lucky to have escaped that harbour. He had finally managed to drag the near-unconscious Russian out of the water, through the gap in the fencing and onto the Vespa scooter.

Now he drove that damn little scooter all the way back to the city centre of Rome and their hotel.  
Illya sat behind him on the Vespa. His hands clamped Napoleon's suit as tight as he found prudent (which wasn't very tight). Napoleon continuously had one eye on the road and one eye on Illya, for he still feared his partner could lose consciousness altogether at any moment. He had noticed Illya had started shivering, which warned him for the danger of hypothermia setting in.

The ride back to the hotel felt like it took forever. Illya was still awake by the time they had made it back, but only just.  
"Come on, big guy". Napoleon slung one of Illya's arms around his neck and helped him stand up from the Vespa. Illya leaned heavily into Napoleon, which caused the smaller man to walk a bit unsteadily too, straining under the weight of his much larger partner.  
"If anyone asks" Napoleon warned, "you've had one too many drinks and I am taking you back to your room for a good nights rest". Illya weakly nodded his head once to indicate that he had understood.

Together, the two men stumbled into the hotel lobby. Indeed they caught the eyes of some of the guests sitting there, but no one seemed to think the worst of it. They all just assumed, like Napoleon had hoped they would, that Illya had a bit too much of vodka. Without any disturbance from nosy hotel guests they were able to make it to the elevators.

Napoleon reached to press the button for the seventh floor, when his hand was hit away by Illya.  
"Not my room…" His speech had started to slur now too.  
"Where else would you go?" Napoleon asked.  
"Gaby…" Illya answered weakly, "should not disturb her". Napoleon thought the matter over for a few seconds. A frown played on his brow and he tilted his head sideways before speaking again.  
"So… you want to go to my room". It was more of a statement, than an actual question.  
"Would be better, yes" Illya answered.  
Napoleon sighed deeply, the frown not leaving his face just yet. "Alright" he finally answered. This was not really the time to seek a fight with Illya, so he complied and pressed the button for the eight floor.

The doors of the elevator opened up to the floor of Napoleon's room. The hallway looked deserted. Napoleon made the two steps it took to leave the elevator and looked around once more. When he was certain there was no one else around, he hoisted Illya's arm tighter around his neck and set off for his room.

They reached the room without running into any of the other hotel guests. Illya needed Napoleon's support more and more with every passing second.  
"Come on, Peril, just a few more steps" Napoleon muttered. He had to admit that he said it more to ease his own mind, rather than to encourage Illya.  
Napoleon quickly turned the key in the lock, dragged his partner over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind them.

Illya sank to the ground the moment the door fell in the lock. Napoleon, still holding onto Illya's arm, was pulled out of his balance and half fell to the ground as well. He, however, immediately got to his feet again and hoisted Illya up for as much as he could.  
"The floor is not a good place for a rest, Peril. Let's get you to the bed" Napoleon tried to encourage Illya to participate in moving, but the Russian was hardly conscious anymore.

Napoleon literally had to drag the tall man forward, but finally managed to drop him, none too gently, onto the bed.  
With probably the last of his strength, Illya rolled himself onto his front. He was breathing like he had just climbed a mountain and sweat was covering his face. The shivering had become more pronounced. Napoleon recognized the signs of hypothermia and knew he had to move fast now.

It took Napoleon a lot of effort to get the uncooperative Russian out of his wet jacket. His shirt and pants were lighter fabric and would dry faster, so Napoleon left those for what they were. He next removed Illya's shoes and drenched socks.  
Napoleon pulled the covers of the bed all the way up to Illya's chin and topped it off with two spare blankets form the closet. He made sure his partner was completely covered and no part of his body was exposed anymore. Next he hurried to the bathroom to fill up the hot water bottle and placed it across Illya's neck and shoulders.

"C-cold…" Illya managed to say with difficulty while Napoleon worked.  
"I know" Napoleon said, "trying to make it better". It frightened him how Illya allowed all this to be done to him, without even the slightest sign of protest. This was certainly not the Russian way…  
"You'll feel better in the morning" Napoleon added hopeful once was all done. He made to walk away when Illya carefully reached out to him.  
"Cowboy?" Illya slurred. Napoleon turned around and looked down on his partner, who already lay with his eyes closed, face averted from him.  
"Thank you". It were the last words Illya spoke before sliding away into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Illya had succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness, Napoleon had made himself comfortable in the arm chair in his room and had stretched his legs out on the little coffee table.  
He had made one short phone call to Gaby to inform her on what had happened. She, of course, had insisted on coming to his room, but Napoleon had managed to talk her out of it with promises of Illya's well-being and the risk of endangering their mission.  
He hung up the phone and slouched down lower in the arm chair, staring up at the ceiling above him. He should really change into his pyjamas and bath robe, for his own clothes were still a bit soggy too, but right now he simply did not have the energy for it. His shoulders and back were aching from dragging a half-unconscious, giant Russian all the way back from the shipping yard. A bruise was forming rapidly across his left upper arm, from when he had jumped out of the window of the Vinciguerra yard and had landed into the heap of shipping ropes below.

Suddenly Napoleon realized how very tired he was. He slid down even lower in his chair and kicked off his shoes.  
Since Illya was covered by all the blankets in the room, Napoleon pulled one of his jackets to him, that hung over the back of the chair and covered himself with it. It wasn't as comfortable as his bed would have been, but for now it would have to do. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Napoleon awoke with a shudder. He couldn't remember exactly what he had dreamed about, but it certainly was not something pleasant. That feeling of unwanted adrenaline still clung to him after the dream. He passed a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes.  
The little travel alarm he always brought with him, told it was 4 a.m., which meant he had slept for at least 3 hours. The damp had left his clothes and he was quite pleasantly warm by now.

He pushed himself up from the arm chair and quietly walked over to the bed.  
Illya still lay like Napoleon had left him several hours ago: on his front and face averted to the other side. His breathing was calm and deep, and the shivers seemed to be gone.  
Napoleon carefully slid one hand under the blankets and placed it on the Russian's shoulder. A comfortable warmth radiated off Illya now, which could only mean that the hypothermia had not truly set in. Napoleon sighed in relief. "Well done, Peril" he muttered softly.  
He pulled his hand back and pressed it, just to be sure, against Illya's neck. The pulse he felt was strong and regular.

Napoleon, now truly comforted that Illya was doing fine, retreated back to his arm chair.  
Even though it was still the middle of the night, he did not feel like sleeping anymore. Instead, he reached for the newspaper he hadn't had a chance to finish yet, and would simply wait until Illya woke up again.

* * *

It was nearing 5.30 a.m. when Illya first started showing signs of life.

The first sign was a slight movement of his arm. The blankets rustled softly from it, causing Napoleon to be alerted. He sat a little more sideways in his chair, so he could see what was happening with the Russian. For a while nothing happened anymore and Napoleon almost started to think he had been imagining the sound and the movement.

Right when Napoleon had decided it _had_ been a fragment of his imagination, Illya slowly moved a leg and groaned softly. A soft cough escaped the Russian and he carefully repositioned himself onto his side. He opened his eyes and stared ahead. For a few minutes he lay like that, slowly waking up further.

"Why am I here?" Illya asked suddenly. He couldn't quite see Napoleon from how he was lying, but he could sense the American was in the room with him.  
"It was your own suggestion" Napoleon, who had watched Illya wake up from a distance, answered, "you were too afraid of disturbing Gaby".  
"Is she alright?" Illya asked.  
"You could have drowned last night or be killed by hypothermia, and the first thing you're asking me is if your girlfriend had a good night's rest?" The mockery was clear in Napoleon's voice.

Illya slowly pushed himself upright in the bed and stared angrily at the American. Napoleon was glad to see the hard glare was back on the Russian's face.  
"Is. She. Alright?" Illya spoke each words clearly and menacingly.  
"Sure. You're girlfriend is alright" Napoleon answered lightly.  
"She is _not_ my girlfriend" Illya said the words with his usual venom again.  
"Why? Is having girlfriends not something you Russians do?" Napoleon teased.  
"She is our mission" Illya bit back. His right hand, resting on the covers, had started to tremble again, indicating he was losing his temper. "I would never endanger the mission". Illya added.  
Napoleon held up his hands in surrender and that smug smile of his spread across his face. Illya clearly did not know how to handle this reaction, so instead he nodded his head curtly. "Good" he mumbled at the American's gesture of surrender and apology.

Napoleon's deep chuckle suddenly sounded through the room. Illya looked back over at his partner, lost for the meaning of this behaviour.  
"What?" he asked.  
Napoleon cocked his head to the side and his blue eyes were fixed on Illya. Not in a hard or teasing way, but actually quite friendly and sincere. He took a deep breath and the words Napoleon spoke were the last ones Illya had ever expected to hear.  
"It's good to have you back in one piece, Peril".


End file.
